


The Little Things

by Ealasaid



Series: A City In Shadows [17]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, M/M, Mobsterswitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were of half a mind to get roaringly drunk and blow something up, like the Fuzz’s station. Never mind that such a thing would be suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

You hadn’t really thought that the anger you felt when you stormed out of the club would lead to anything constructive. Nefarious Bawd had twiddled some clever scheme together that half fleeced you and killed another gang, and had had the gall to stand against your wrath and finagle a way out of it. Your entire evening was ruined, and it was her fault. Worse, there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it but wait.

You’d swept home muttering imprecations under your breath, angrier with each step as the frustration piled up. You were of half a mind to get roaringly drunk and blow something up, like the Fuzz’s station. Never mind that such a thing would be suicide.

Instead, as you slammed open the door to your favorite apartment and headed straight for the liquor cabinet, you ran into Scout at your kitchen table, smoking and pondering what looked like a game of Solitaire. He looked at you and paled a little—not surprising with what he’s seen your temper do—but manages a calmly raised eyebrow and the incredibly insightful observation of “You’re in a bad mood.”

“No, whatever makes you think that,” you snarl back. “I did  _not_  just get fucked over by that  _bitch_  and left with five bodies on my hands, no sir. There is absolutely  _no reason_  I should be in  _such a state_  as to merit the cruel judgment that  _I am in a bad fucking mood._ ”

Scout serenely puffs on his cigarette. You think it’s to cover shaking fingers, but you can’t really tell for sure because you’re shaking hard yourself, desperate to destroy something.

“So you’re in a bad mood,” Scout repeats, attention on his cards as he flips some over.

You lose it and spin and shriek and punch the wall repeatedly until your knuckles are a bloody mess and your anger is spent malevolently glaring at the bloody smears and dents you’ve left. Scout ignores you and keeps playing his game, all cigarette smoke and muffled curses as you eventually calm down enough to march into your bathroom and start cleaning your hands off.

When you come out, Scout’s pulled some leftover takeout from the refrigerator and is busy reheating it at the stove. He’s also on the phone with someone.

“Yeah no, he’s fine,” Scout growls into the receiver. He listens for a moment. “I don’t fucking know, why don’t you ask him? He’s right here—oh,  _I_ see. Can’t be bothered. Fine, go drink your fucking tea!”

“What’s he talking about?” you inquire in Scout’s unoccupied ear as you casually wrap your arms around him from behind. He tenses slightly, but pushes the receiver back against your ear in time to hear Innovator stutter a goodbye and the click of being hung up on.

“Nothing,” Scout answers after you push the offending telephone away. “He just wanted to know if I’d seen you since you got rolled by Bawd.”

You moodily rest your chin on the shorter man’s head and watch him stir the pasta in the pan. “And?”

“And you’re really fucking tall, I get that,” Scout says testily, avoiding the question.

You tighten your arms, annoyed. Scout appears unfazed. “Wouldja mind moving? This shit is done,” he complains, and inexplicably your mood flips into amusement. You snag the pan out of his grasp and shove it onto one of the backburners as you yank him away from the stove and press him up against the refrigerator and kiss him instead over his muffled protests. You two can eat later.

It starts out with you thoroughly fucking him over, making him writhe and beg and scream as you pin him to the bed. It’s incredibly satisfying watching your Scout make expressions and sounds he would never voluntarily make because of things you do, and that goes a long way to taking the bite out of your lingering resentment towards that tricksy twig of a woman.

You have a revelation next when Scout takes the initiative and goes down on you before you can prevent him. It’s not a thing that you usually partake in, because you’d much rather be giving and in control. The suddenness of it makes you gasp and arch, and  _wow_ that feels good where did he learn that—and the brief jealousy over Scout doing things like this with other people evaporates just as soon as it appears when his nose presses against your belly and he looks up at you wickedly and sucks hard.

Afterwards you’re the one in a daze and he curls up next to you, smugly satisfied. Under other circumstances you’d work to wipe it off his face, but you’re still reeling from the release and seem to be utterly boneless. You couldn’t work up the energy if the Fuzz busted in through the door and clapped irons on you right now, however unlikely that might seem. And strangely, you’re okay with that.

Scout’s lit a cigarette, and he shares it with you. Together you watch the patterns the smoke makes as it curls up to the ceiling.

“Hey Scout,” you say finally, half-drowsing, remembering the brief, irrelevant thought you’d had earlier when he surprised you.

“Yeah?” he prompts when you don’t continue.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best decision I ever made?”

He’s silent for a moment next to you. “No,” he says finally. He hands you the cigarette and drapes an arm over your chest as he wriggles closer and uses your shoulder as a pillow. “But it’s nice to know.”


End file.
